


transform ourselves into beasts

by Mor_an_idiot_Mor_a_fool (Aelfay)



Series: Transform ourselves [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Seb is adorbs when drunk, homicidal adorbs but still adorbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:38:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2224248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelfay/pseuds/Mor_an_idiot_Mor_a_fool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Moran is drunk. And those are lovely brown eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	transform ourselves into beasts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noottersontheflightdeck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noottersontheflightdeck/gifts).



Sebastian Moran, previous Colonel in her Majesty's army, was drunk.

Rephrase: he was completely, utterly smashed. One hundred percent pissed.

Thank fuck for alcohol, he thought to himself as he reached for the bottle on the bedside table. The biggest problem with this plan was trying to figure out which bottle to reach for. There were at least three. No, four. No, just two. Hell, he was drunk. Fucking army. Fucking discharge. Ha! He'd managed to grab the beer. He was brilliant.

He looked up after a swig and glanced around the room he was in. He hated this room. It was nice enough for what he could afford, but the brown panelled walls (as per the 70's), the shag carpet, the puke green tile in the bathroom, the brown ceiling, brown doors, brown eyes.

"Actually, those aren't bad," he said out loud, then hiccuped and rolled over to stare at them better, as they were the most interesting things in the room. They rolled up, then sideways, sharp pools of empty brown.

"I do hope you realise everything you just attempted to say was entirely incomprehensible," said a dry, Irish voice, and Seb realised the eyes were attached to lips.

Fuck.

Lips.

He licked his own and leaned forward...

And fell off the bed.

"Damn alco- alchom- booze," he managed to spit out, and pushed himself up. He was going to attempt the complicated maneuver of turning to sit on the floor when he felt cold round metal nudge the base of his skull.

He froze.

The thing about being himself, he thought a second later, as he straddled thin legs, was that he couldn't stop being himself, which was annoying when one was actively trying to die by alcohol overdose but still somehow managed not to want to die really; as proven by his evasion of the gun.

No, he thought, actually he did want to die, but it was the principle of the thing that he was gonna be the one to off himself; thanks very much for the offer tho.

The legs underneath him shook, and he looked down to find the brown eyes from before, sparkling now, as the lips laughed. "Do you realise you said all of that out loud?" they laughed, and he didn't like being laughed at.

He frowned and tried to cover them up, but his hand was full of gun, so he had to use his other hand, but it was full of bottle and he didn't want to let go of that, so instead he ended up doing the practical thing.

He leaned down and covered those laughing lips with his own.

Fuck that was good. That was lovely and soft and lush-

The bright pain crossing his chest wasn't nearly as pleasant, and he reared away from those lovely soft lips to look down at himself, where a red line opened across his shirt.

Damn. He liked that shirt.

"Boss?" came a voice from the door, and Sebastian let the hand holding the gun move from the forehead above the pretty brown eyes to aim at the face at the door, which went pale, and then dropped as the man fell with a hole just to the left of the centre of his forehead.

"Not sighted right," Seb grunted, annoyed, and shot again at the body, this time dead on as he compensated for the slight inaccuracy of the tool.

That done, he turned to look back down at those brown eyes, which were now narrowed, assessing him. His chest hurt and he frowned down at them and those ever-lovely lips. He wanted to kiss them again but he didn't want to get slashed with the knife. Choices.

The pretty lips pursed and the eyes began to twinkle. Sebastian suspected he was talking out loud again.

"May I have a sip?"

Seb frowned - how many hands did he have? - before finding the correct appendage and pressing the edge of the bottle to the swollen pink of the lower lip. He watched the beer disappear slowly from the bottle, and when it got too low to suit he brought the bottle back to his own mouth, tasting another flavour on the edges of the beer.

A bit later - he didn't really know what had happened, or how, as he didn't care much - he found himself back in bed, but a hand was pulling away his beer bottle and he wasn't happy about it.

"Oh, stop that," said the voice from before. "Wrong day to die."

Sebastian shook his head, annoyed. "Right day," he muttered. "Haddit alllll planned."

"Yes, but my plans are better," said the plush lips. "And include far more guns. Sleep for you now, I think."

A jab in Sebastian's shoulder and he felt himself begin to drift off, but as he slipped away he heard a voice order, "Get rid of all the alcohol. Colonel Moran will need to be sober for his assignment in the morning."

Oh, good. A mission then, he thought as things went black. He could put off dying for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! ~William Shakespeare, Othello
> 
> This was written from a prompt for noottersontheflightdeck on Tumblr, who is my very own homicidal tiger.


End file.
